If I was standing here today, you would see something fairly unusual for a funeral – I would have a permanent smile on my face. 

You will understand what I mean if you knew Clive as well as my wife, Anne and I did. 

We met more than 20 years ago – through the medium of radio, and struck up a wonderful friendship. Odd, because Clive and Marie lived in Kent and we in Aberdeenshire, latterly Edinburgh. 

We would meet up around four times a year for long weekends north or south. We would meet up at alternative airports, start with a laugh about something from the journey, then continue chuckling for the rest of the stay. 

Clive was an enthusiastic, eccentric entrepreneur. Every visit would start with Clive enthusing about his latest ideas to help him towards millionsaireship. All this in the car, heading for home from the airport. 

Like so many entrepreneurs, for every 20 ideas he had, three quarters of them were bonkers and we could all laugh them off by the first set of traffic lights. There would be a decent thought or two in there which would need a lot more thinking – but there would always be a gem. Problem was, he always had so many plates spinning already, it was very difficult to launch anything new. 

We travelled a lot together – there is hardly a corner of Scotland we did not visit. We went on many trips abroad - mostly to France as that is just a whiz across the channel from their house, where we ended up with a number of favourite restaurants and pubs. There was Belgrade, Chicago, and Italy – each destination carrying it’s own story and a further bunch of laughs. 

For instance, we paid a visit to Nice in the south of France one year, for Clive’s birthday a few years ago. Clive would, with a certain grace, stroll along the promenade, with an independent air – you would hear the girls declare, `Why, there goes a millionaire`…….However, this image was slightly tarnished by the £3.99 Primark Bermuda shorts he insisted on wearing. 

The main Nice Casino was a major attraction for most of us – but not Clive. Surprising - as you would have thought he would carefully have devised a scheme for beating the roulette wheel. However, the three of us persuaded him to go and that we would only stay until we were broke. We each converted a modest amount of euros into chips – except Clive. As the other three split off to make our fortunes, Clive, to show his derision at his buddies from Gamblers Anonymous, decided he would spend the evening strolling around in the Casino, reading the safety notices on the French fire extinguishers, thoughtfully positioned around the hall. 

Somehow, the three of us were down to our last few chips very quickly… 

Very quickly, we had only 29 euros left between us. Much to Clive’s delight, we made for the door, but just as we got there, there was a roulette table with only the croupier in attendance and no members of the public. Being the most foolish amongst us, I suggested we just use these last few chips on black on one throw. 

You guessed right – it came up black. We now had 58 euros from our casino fund. I again, recklessly said – “Just leave it for one last spin” Yup – it came up black so we now had 116.

Most sensible people would cash their chips and go – but there were now shaky hands and sweaty upper lips amongst us (except Clive). There was silence for a moment or two until Marie said, “Let’s spin it!” The croupier leant forward to spin, but this was too much for Clive as he lunged forward and grabbed a big handful of our chips whilst shouting “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo”. “No more bets please” said the croupier as he spun with our much smaller pile of winnings sitting awaiting it’s outcome. The ball took what seemed like 20 minutes to spin round and eventually come to a stop – in black. This was the end. Clive scooped the lot and ran for the door. How much we had, I was never sure, but probably around 150 euros. Clive broke into a smile for the first time in the last hour. We made for a fine restaurant and enjoyed a splendid Clive birthday meal, secure in the knowledge that should the building burst into flames, Clive would know exactly how to deal with it –in French. 

Burn’s Nights in Scotland can be entertaining, toe tapping, very funny but also pretty often down-right tedious and haggis dodgy. 

A good few years ago, the four of us headed for a hotel in Banchory Aberdeenshire, for a promised splendid Burn’s evening. It was truly splendid with hilarious speakers and excellent food. We instantly booked to go again the following year, which turned out to be equally outstanding. 

Would we try for a third year? No – we thought we ought to search elsewhere. A major Aberdeen hotel had just opened a brand new function suite and was advertising it’s Burn’s Night – including dinner – for just £29. As you will know, Clive carefully looked after his bawbees (ask a friendly Scotsman what that means) and he felt this represented excellent value, judging the hotel would be putting on a good show to promote the new function suite. 

We felt it was worth going the full hog on this one and went off to hire kilts for the guys and the Flora MacDonald’s for the ladies. It is actually quite difficult to look bad in a kilt and if you are ever at a “do” where kilts are worn, you will note that men tend to strut around, glancing into any mirror they pass. There is a “down-side” and that is when a visit to the urinal is required, especially if the sporran is being worn. It involves at least three hands and your teeth. It is not a dignified procedure. 

We stood around in the large reception area as waiters ambled around with large trays of all sorts of pre-dinner drinks. We eventually got into the suite, which had tables for 10 but as it was not overcrowded, we managed to get a table for four, which also had it’s share of drinks in the middle. The meal was excellent and they came round handing out reels of raffle tickets for a draw after speeches. Truly excellent value at 29 quid. 

There was a chink of glass as the MC stood up to get everyone’s attention. Then, in a distinctly Italian accent, he said, “A-welcome to you all – now here-a is our chairman Spinalti Montoni” at which there was a big round of applause. 

Spinalti then said, “Happy Good Burns-a night to you-a all and thank you so much for all the outstanding work you have done this year-a.” A slow dawning was creeping over us, slower than usual, thanks to all of those drinks, that there was a slight chance we should not be there. Spinalti launched into his speech and the four of us then all realised we had gate-crashed a posh Italian dinner. In Aberdeen, many oil companies operate by using contractors – therefore a room such as this would be full of people unknown to each other. 

I don’t think the four of us have ever laughed so loud for so long. The Chairman was delighted – it was the first time anyone had laughed so hard for so long at one of his speeches – and the crowd seemed to follow us thinking we could see something funny they were missing. 

We felt we ought to get out of there as discreetly as possible 

but Clive was convinced he would win something in the raffle. 

The interval then followed immediately and the Chairman made straight for our table. “The game’s up” we thought. But Spinalti had a huge grin on his face. “I am-a so glad you are having a good evening – hope you can manage to come next year” “Youbetcha!” was Clive’s instant response. That may just have been pushing our luck. 

That has just been the smallest flavour of the times and laughs we have enjoyed so much with Clive and Marie, so just to finish off – a gesture which Clive would love. 

His favourite drinks were real ale (often fairly cloudy and tasting of gas), a fine red wine and the best of single malt whisky. 

Could I ask you all to stand up please………………….now – we are obviously not permitted to have alcohol here, so could you please hold up your hand as if you are holding a glass. I will then call out, “To Clive!” You then all call the same, then down those pretend glasses in a oner. He would love to be here to join in this. 

(Then do the To Clive, knock back your drink and thank them all)

By Rod Webster